Grief Counselors Tuscaloosa AL

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Life After Grief

9/11/2001. It devastated our country and took people from their loved ones in what seemed like the blink of an eye. In its wake, tens of thousands were left to cope with senseless and soul-shattering loss. On the fifth anniversary month of that terrible event, a 9/11 widow—whose firefighter husband died a hero attempting to rescue people from the burning World Trade Center—reveals how she struggled to maintain her mental and physical health in the days, months and years following such a life-altering tragedy.

By Marian Fontana

September 2006

It started with jaw pain first—the clenching of the tender area where the jawbone meets the skull—as I watched the World Trade Center burning on television. It was the morning of my eighth wedding anniversary and I had just dropped my son, Aidan, off for his second full day of kindergarten. My husband Dave, a firefighter with a unit in Brooklyn, should have been home getting ready for our day inManhattan together. At the end of his night shift at about 9 am, we planned on going to Central Park for lunch at the boathouse and then taking a personal tour of the sculpture exhibit at the Whitney Museum. Now, instead of getting on the subway with Dave, I am standing in my Brooklyn living room with my friend Lorie and we are witnessing what feels like the end of the world.

As I watched the first tower fall, I knew, on a cellular level, Dave was gone. My heart felt as if it was actually breaking, fissures cracking across its surface and exploding like glass. My knees involuntarily buckled, and sound and sight became distorted. I can almost feel it even now, five years later, the powerful force of adrenaline surging through my body. What was happening inside me was cataclysmic, as though my body was collapsing like the towers, but all of my thoughts and energy were focused on Dave, and praying that somewhere in the midst of that horrible wreckage, he was okay.

When the second tower fell, Lorie panicked. Her kids went to the same nearby school as Aidan. “Do you think they’re safe?” she asked, worry wrinkling her brow. I feel guilty about it now, but Aidan was the last thing on my mind. I was too busy speeding through my 17 years with Dave and trying to grasp the thought that he would not be coming home. I sent Lorie to check on the kids and told her to return with a pack of cigarettes. I hadn’t smoked in 13 years. After she left, I opened a bottle of wine, ignoring the bitter taste at that hour of the morning. I paced as fast as my mind was churning and when Lorie returned, the cigarette forced me to take deep, long breaths. I tried hard to slow my pounding heart as I watched dust from the towers settle softly on the patch of grass in my small backyard.

By 5 pm, it felt like years had passed. I finished the pack of cigarettes and had switched to scotch to keep my hands from shaking. Friends arrived by the dozens offering me anti-depression medication and sleep aids. I was in a foggy stu...

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